


Ephemeral {d.m}

by ellacafferky



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: dracomalfoy, F/M, Good Draco Malfoy, POV Blaise Zabini, POV Theodore Nott
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:21:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28611987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellacafferky/pseuds/ellacafferky
Summary: Ephemeral (adj)- lasting for a very short timeShe was a broken doll, looking for the boy with glue. And he was smashed glass, looking for someone to smooth all his sharp edges.Post-war Dramione: started 7/1/21
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	Ephemeral {d.m}

TW: SUICIDAL THOUGHTS

His fingers twitched spasmodically. He had never really been the same since the war, even the slightest things set him off now. His nerves walked a razor thin edge, and he was never sure when he would fall into the yawing abyss.

He glared at his hands, as if the intensity of his gaze would stop his twitches. He wanted to break, just shatter into a million tiny pieces and, for once, let someone else pick up the remains.

He had imagined breaking often enough. He could see it happening, the note left carefully folded on his bed, the countless wordless apologies he would leave behind. Maybe they would grieve him, maybe they wouldn't. It was a testament to his hopelessness that he didn't care.

He gazed at his hands again. His nails were bitten down to the beds, his palms cut from where he had clenched his hands into fists. The tremors were stopping now at least. 

He found himself thinking back to the night when the twitches had first started. It had been the night that he had lost everything. His father killed and his mother carted off to Azkaban. He hadn't cared about his father, at least the killing curse was a quick death. 

His mother's suffering had been drawn out for a few months over the summer. She had never been strong physically, or even mentally. Azkaban had broken her within weeks. A slow death, a lonely death.

They hadn't even let him see the body. Sometimes, late at night, he would clutch the death letter to his heart. It was the last confirmation he had of her, the last promise.

Dear Mr Malfoy,

We regret to inform you that, on the morning of July 23rd, your mother- Mrs Narcissa Malfoy- was confirmed dead.

Cause of death: pneumonia

If you have any enquiries about the circumstances of death or any concerns, please contact the Ministry of Magic Department of Magical Law Enforcement

Our condolences,

Samantha Bernarde, Department of Magical Law Enforcement

The letter was short, abrupt and cold. Sometimes, he wanted to throw it into the fire and watch it burn to ashes, but then, at other times, he just wanted to hold it in his hand and cry till there was nothing left.

He hadn't even seen the body, hadn't even known about her death until after the burial. She was one of many graves dug outside the wizarding prison. Left to the mercy of the dementors even in death. 

He often wondered would anything had changed if they had won?

He wouldn't be on this stupid train at any rate. He supposed that it was a metaphor for his life in some way. He was the hopeless passenger, the one who just trailed along, waiting aimlessly for the final stop.

He wished the final stop would hurry up and come soon.

But then, if they had won the war, would it be different? He would still be trapped, just in a different type of cage with a different type of jailer.

The train jolted and he slammed his hands into the table. The tremors started again. 

"Draco?"

He looked up, hiding his hands beneath the table. They were just another embarrassment in a long line of humiliations. Draco Malfoy: deficient death eater with deficient hands.

"Draco!" The voice sparked with recognition and he forced himself to look up. The voice belonged to Theodore Nott. They had been friends at some point, but then the war had happened. Draco didn't know where they stood in terms of friendship, but judging by Theo's grin, they were best friends.

Draco didn't reply to Theo's enthusiasm, just gestured to a seat in front of him, silently praying that the other boy wouldn't accept the offer. Theo didn't take the hint, and dropped into the seat across from Draco.

"I never thought I'd see you again! Mate, we all thought you were done for. How's the family?"

So his family's demise wasn't common knowledge. The Malfoy's were being hushed up even after death: the stains of the wizarding world. 

"They're dead." Draco said it bluntly, honeycoating it wouldn't take away the sting, "My father was killed in a Ministry raid after the Dark Lord fell, and my mother was sentenced to Azkaban- she died two months ago."

Theo's cheerful face fell. Draco noticed it with a bitter smile, "How's your family?" He returned the question, trying to ignore his spasming fingers.

"Draco, I'm..well...I'm really sorry. I had no idea. If I'd have known.."

"What? You'd have turned up to my house with a tray of cookies and a sympathy card? You'd have made it all better? It's not like a plaster, Theo, you can't just rip it off and it's miraculously better. The plaster is just the part on the outside, rip it off and it hurts twice the amount it did when you put it on."

Theo shook his head, "If there's anything I can do.."

Draco didn't even reply. What was the point in talking with someone who didn't understand? Theo would never feel the pain, his losses were but a papercut compared with Draco's bullet wound. 

Theo seemed to think talking was the best option, "The family's fine, we went through a few ministry raids, but other than that, it has been relatively quiet."

Draco sighed silently, maybe he could shock the boy into silence, "I'm glad to know your family is safe and sound. Mine didn't even get a burial together. One is in a ministry hellhole somewhere and the other is beneath the rocks of Azkaban."

There was a silence, broken only by Theo's mutterings. Draco was sure he heard, "I'm going to get Blaise, and then a drink", before the boy left the compartment, presumably to find alcohol.

Draco was left on his own, isolated with just his thoughts for company. Guilting Theo with his family's deaths had been a low blow, he knew, but there was a vindictive pleasure in taunting someone like Theo. Draco knew Theo was trying his best, but some darker part of him wanted the boy to hurt as he had. Then they would be equal at least.

Draco knew some of it was jealously. Why did Theo get an intact family when Draco's had fallen apart? It was selfish, they had all gone through the war, but for some reason, Draco was the one suffering for it.

He drummed his fingers against the table, another nervous habit he had taken up. There had been a time when he could play the piano effortlessly. In fact, he had prided himself on it. He supposed he had loved it, the glide of his fingers over the keys, the gentle notes that emerged.

He wondered if he could still play, or if his hands would shake too much to even press the keys. There was a grand piano in the dining hall, but he hadn't used it for at least a year. He could still remember his mother teaching his the notes, the pride he had felt after finally mastering a tune.

That was like most of his memories, beautiful at first glance, but the second you looked more closely at them, they became tainted. 

Bittersweet. He thought that was the word.

Theo chose that moment to reappear, followed by Blaise and a bottle of whiskey, "Here, drink this." A glass of amber liquid was thrust his way, and he swallowed it easily. The alcohol burned on the way down, but the warmth that he felt afterwards was well worth it.

Blaise sat on the seat next to Theo, leaving Draco opposite both of them. Draco was filled with the bizarre urge to laugh. It reminded him of his mother's trial. The two judges peering down at his mother, even as she shied away from them. 

Blaise and Theo seemed to be treating him the same way, as if he was a wounded animal, and they were waiting to pass judgement on his mental faculties.

Blaise broke the silence first, "Sorry about the family." Theo had obviously told him on the way there. At least he didn't have to explain the details all over again.

Draco nodded, at least Blaise could pretend to understand. His mother had been killed by the Ministry in 'a raid gone wrong.'

Everyone knew it was a cover up. Victoria Zabini had been too involved with the Death Eaters to be left alive. She had been a key informant for Voldemort in the weeks leading up to Dumbledore's death, and had been treated as a war criminal by the Order of the Phoenix.

However, maybe death was preferable to the horrors of Azkaban.

At least Blaise still had his sister. They could rely on each other, and they still had their step-father. They were an imitation of a family, but at least they had each other.

Draco had no one. In the months since his father's death, no one had come to call. Not one person had graced the doorstep of Malfoy Manor. He had been left there alone. Draco couldn't even remember the last time he had spoken to anyone until today.

Blaise gave Draco a concerned look over the rim of his glass. Draco scowled, if he had to put up with any more sympathy he would happily kill the first person he saw. The Dementor's kiss was sounding more and more like a release every day.

No feelings, no thoughts. Sounded like bliss.

"Have you seen anyone over the summer?"

Draco turned his bleary eyes towards Blaise, "What like a healer? Or do you mean a friend?"

"A healer."

"I don't need or want one," Draco snapped, "They know nothing about me or what I need. I hate that they believe they can cure me, I don't need curing, I'm not injured. I just need fixing."

There was a lengthy silence. Blaise reached for Draco's glass and refilled it. Draco took it and drank again, at least if he was drunk he didn't have to pretend to hold himself together. He could scream and throw things all he wanted, and Blaise and Theo would be too far gone to care. He drank another and another until the thoughts in his head were little more than blurred daydreams.

"Draco, we are sorry about your family", Theo paused, his words halting due to the drink, "..If you wanted, you could come to one of ours over the holidays."

Draco dragged himself out of the haze of alcohol he was drowning in, "It would be better than the empty manor anyway." He batted the air for a few moments, as if warding off his thoughts, before slurring out his next words, "..too many..memories there."

Blaise nodded slowly. He had always been able to hold his drink better than the others. He was still looking sober whilst Theo and Draco were lolling against the seats.

Draco rushed to change the conversation. Even in their drunken states, the two boys had that look on their faces. Pity. He didn't want their sympathy, all their lying promises, 'It will be okay Draco', 'It gets easier over time.'

That was what the nurse at St Mungo's had said when he had turned up there, bleeding profusely from his hand after he had smashed an old vase against the wall. Whilst she removed the ceramic from his hand, she had told him all those lies and more, before eventually patching him up and telling him he needed to go through a rehabilitation program.

He had wanted to smash something again when she started explaining it to him. Preferably the healer's head. She had told him he had got to return to Hogwarts if he wanted to move on with his life. He had told her he didn't need to and had made to leave the room.

That was when she had told him he absolutely had to return to Hogwarts, if he wanted to be considered stable and peaceful. Draco knew he wasn't stable, and his thoughts were anything but peaceful. However he knew the Ministry would likely watch his every move even more closely if they knew he was unstable. So he had consented.

That was why he was sitting on the Hogwarts Express, heading towards his least favourite place in the world. Thankfully, he was entering it drunk, so at least he would be out of it for the night.

He took another drink. The hangover was going to be horrific, but he looked forwards to the pain. It always helped him focus. 

Draco managed to string coherent thoughts together long enough to wonder how different the castle was going to be. The last time he had seen it, he had been at Voldemort's side looking at the destruction of his school. The courtyard had been completely ruined, the air humming with dark magic.

Blaise and Theo still hadn't seen the ruined castle. They had not been at the Battle. Draco wondered if they were glad of it, or if they wished they had been there. Maybe he would ask them one day. For now, he settled for a much simpler question.

"The castle..." he splashed half the alcohol down his arm with an exaggerated gesture, "...What do you think it's going to...be like..lessons?" Draco' voice trailed off into nothing and he raised his dark eyes to the boys opposite.

Theo struggled to sit up, "The students will hate us...half the teachers will too."

Blaise was showing his drunkeness now. His eyes were half closed and he had the air of a dishevelled alcoholic, "They'll all bow to Potter...kiss his feet if he asked them to...yeah they'll hate us..the children of their enemies....At least it'll be a fun year."

Draco groaned, "Yeah public enemy number one we are...Potter...thinks he's all that now..defeated the Dark Lord...lucky shot.."

Theo pulled himself upright again, "And with Snape gone.."

Blaise finished his sentence, "...We've got no one."

Draco groaned. Blaise and Theo were right, the Slytherins had always been favoured by Snape. He had advocated for them when no one else would, and despite his icy manner, he had always offered support when he needed to.

Draco laughed to himself, if he didn't laugh he would break apart again, before toasting the boys across from him, "To Hogwarts most hated."

The boys joined in his laughter as they attempted to toast each other, most of their drinks spilling on the table, "To Hogwarts most hated!"


End file.
